


Better Man - Johnny Vincent fanfic

by PeanutsRomano



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeanutsRomano/pseuds/PeanutsRomano
Summary: Claire Bellin has always been attracted to a certain greaser boy by the name of Johnny Vincent. Through the rough,  temperamental reputation, the definition of a bad boy, he commonly attends the coffee shop every day. No one there recognizes him, and he always comes alone. She never has had the courage to talk to him, until one day he looks like he’s about to explode like dynamite.





	1. Prologue

The clock strikes 7 o’clock, and the brink of dusk greets the silk pavement of the concrete road. As another customer casually arrives in, Claire instantly recognizes her due to the usual perk of middle class residents settling inside of the tranquil of the coffee shop. She was appreciative of the fact her work at the coffee shop was nominal, she was granted a vast amount of free time. Albeit, too much time was delivered to her. In her spare time, her interest was always captured by a romance book. Sometimes, she commonly read a specific one more than most. This time, she was rereading Jane Eyre for the fifth time and she had been swept off her feet yet again. She dug in deeper, incisive through each line she read meticulously. She had discovered new things she never once pondered about, and she had loved that. Despite her boring life, she had something new to look forward to each fleeting moment of the day. It was the layer of chocolate icing that was it’s pristine canopy to it’s designated cake.

For example, one of the things she had anticipated through each shift was a glimpse of a certain boy. His leather jacket was lustrous, as if always polished clean so it was perceived as brand new. He had a chocolate mop of hair, embedded bangs that were coated with grease. A silver hoop had been hooked to his left ear, just like she had been amorously smitten with him. His jawline was whetted and sharp, enough to slice the bagels she handed to customers. His eyes had been soft caramel pools, reminding her of the cup of coffee she always delivered him.

What always baffled her was how he never came with anyone. He had been a lone wolf, and in fact one of the only teenagers to loaf around the coffee shop. He could stay for as long as a hour, but normally he remained there for twenty minutes. Since smoking was permitted, there arrayed between his sausage digits, his infamous middle and alert index was a cigarette from his pack of Camels. She could sense something was on his mind, from how is expression was punctured into a serious brooding. The way he pouted his lips as he concentrated through his ruminations had made her heart flutter. His eyebrows were furrowed and he nibbled on his lips, and in a way she conjectured that he may have been seducing her. 

He was undeniably attractive, no oppositions about it. He had started arriving for the past few weeks, during the wintry February, the month of love and passion. She wasn’t sure if he was searching for something new, just from his presence odd being there. It was always middle aged locals and upper class elders at rush hour in need of a blazing cup of joe to boost their energy so they were motivated for work. 

She had debated if he had arrived for her, driven from something personal. 

But something about him had intrigued her, and she strived to learn more. 


	2. Lost Boy

Claire had intentionally appeared delightful, wearing a baby pink blouse with a floral slip up dress over it. The 90s had been embarking a revival in the fashion trend and she pertained to casual fittingly. Her thick set of chestnut curls had been straightened to where it was immaculate. It extended to her back, and it had been one of the qualities she admired about herself. Albeit, it had been a struggle for her to be attentive to. She considered trimming it for quirks, but she had been fretful about regretting it soon after. Instead, she left it alone for now and focused on the current moment. 

During her shift, she intimately surveyed the clock’s hands and probed about how it worked. The path of time seemed unlimited and ceaseless to her somehow, especially with the presence of him whenever he was there. 

Her heart had performed a ritual of excessive flips, each tendon spewing out of control. She sucked in the shallow air and expelled out a breath in a hasty attempt to calm herself. She didn’t even know him yet the blood that oozed from her palpable heart had bursted it’s volcanic flow of enthusiasm whenever she stole a glimpse at him. Whenever his chocolate swirls would avert to her gaze, tremors would rush throughout her bloodstream. She wouldn’t be astonished if he had a girl straddled at his side. However, if he did have a girl, why didn’t he bring her there? The coffee shop was a romantic serenity, an appropriate place to be alone with a significant other. 

After pouring a steaming cup of hot tea into a mug the color of an egg shell, that's when her heart galloped like an energetic mare. The silver shop keeper's bell chimed it's song bubbly, signaling that he had arrived. She glanced up from the tea, and on key, there he was. He heaved an intense exhale, his expression contorted into a mixture of frustration and dejection. She watches him punctiliously as he treads towards his usual arrangement where he sits. It had been by a back corner, enabling him to huddle alone so he could ruminate. It’s like he lacked the concentration to think, and this had been one of the mere times he could ponder about any problems that occurred in his life. She mused about what had stimulated this sudden fiery, if anyone had been delivering him an irritating time of turmoil. 

He flumps against the crimson dining chair with an aggravated thump, exasperation fluid through his system. As he settles in the coffee shop, he peers outside the window pane. His face was limpid through his reflection of the crystal glass beside him. He had been rubescent from his preserved twine of rage and envy. It was required that he calmed down, as it wasn’t desired of him to compel a disastrous scene. Raindrops patted against the window like a frisky cat on a tin roof. It amplified more into where it was an intense storm, and before he knew it, the metropolitan of Bullworth was flooded at the seams. 

The boy heaved a sigh in relief, content that he made it before the storm intensified. The water wouldn’t screw up his glorious combed mop of hair and he was immensely appreciative of that. 

He delved into the pocket of his emblematic leather jacket, yanking out a pack of Camel cigarettes. After opening it, he retrieved a refillable metal lighter from the same pocket. With a simple flick, he ignited the cherry of the cigarette and hauled it to his lips. He squeezed his eyes sealed, the inhale a vivid solace to him. Mentally, he acknowledged the holy tobacco sticks, always grateful that they were made to assist people like him. The breather exhaled out all of the overwhelming obstacles that beared over his life, just like this little coffee shop. 

 After Claire returned the pot of tea to where it originated from on the counter, she too had emitted a thorough respire herself prior to approaching him. Her heart sprinted around the track course again and she paced herself to where she founded tranquility. She whirled around and faced him, where he had appeared stunning and effortlessly aesthetic with the cigarette lofted in his hand. Apprehensive to keep the charming boy waiting, she ambled towards him. 

His chocolate orbs lingered upon her, swirling in a whirlpool of anger. She sensed he wasn’t in the mood to chatter much, so she proceeded right to the chase. 

“What can I get you today?” She queried, her tone a timid deer. 

His eyes refrained from peering away. “The usual. A cappuccino with whipped cream. No cinnamon.” 

Claire nodded, a struggle for her to glance away from him. She scribbled in her elaborate, intricate cursive his order and acknowledged him with a courteous nod. 

“Anything else?” She attempted to question. However, he reciprocated with a shake of his head and remained there, unstirring in position. His gaze fixated on her, as if searching for something. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or flustered. 

She debated whether or not if it would be appropriate of her to ask what had been agitating him. Regardless, she was perturbed that there would be a possibility of an bickering stimulated. So, fretful to risk a chance of throwing him off the edge, she was reserved. 

When she went to brew up his cappucino, there had been an unsettling feeling a set of chocolate orbs were gaping at her. Even as she foamed the cup with a dollop of whipped cream, which hovered over the blonde texture like a milky white, fluffy blanket. As she went to retrieve a stash of napkins, her mind had altered. No longer was she adamant in the single moment granted to her with his presence. With a black pen, she jotted down a few words,  appertaining to spontaneously well. 

She chewed on her upper lip, considering the action scrupulously. 

Might as well take the chance at hand, right?

With his order embraced in her petite hand, she gathered the courage upfront. The napkins and pen were intentionally together in the other, safe to say she had her hands crammed. 

Cautiously, she paced her steps as she made it to his table. A shade of crimson adorned her cheeks, flustered as his eyes had been cemented to her permanently. 

“Here’s your cappucino with whipped cream, no cinnamon, and some napkins.” 

She was mindful when settling it on the table, fretful she might of spilled it upon him. He struck her flabbergasted when he leaned up, extending an arm out to retrieve the cup from her hands. And deliberately, like that, the napkins glided on to the dining table like a plane landing on surface.

The pen toppled over the napkins, remaining in position as intended. She prested her black rimmed glasses into place, blundering in the process.

He glances up, conveying a sincere message with a firm nod of his hand. A quivering smile was cultivated, and she fidgeted with her fingers anxiously. 

“If you need anything, just let me know.” She countered falteringly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Gyrating back, she chided to herself for her awkward nature and lacking the confidence she needed. Why did she have to be so shy around unbelievably attractive boys like him?

She was naive, she admitted that. But she needed to overcome her phobia around boys. If she wanted to catch one, she needed to catch them with vinegar too, not just honey. 

The boy was alarmed to discover a ink splotch on one of the napkins. He glanced up at the mousy girl, who’s back was directed to him as she wiped the back counter with a washcloth. Inquisitive, with furrowed eyebrows, he examined the napkin slowly, reading it in the palm of his hand. 

**_Is everything okay?_ **

He peered back up at the female, observing her movement. She appeared cute, her feminine side endorsed explicitly with the rose pink and floral pattern in her attire. Deciding to reply, he addressed a napkin note to her too and sipped on his cappucino. Like his cigarette, relief surpassed his previous anger. 

She must of had her back turned for an approximate five minutes because by the time she reversed her attention to the other side of the coffee shop, the boy had vanished. There in front of her lay the familiar stack of napkins. It practically felt like a magic act, with him evanescing and the napkins enchantingly appearing before her perspective. She attained the napkins, cradling the cloth bundles in her hold dearest to her. 

**_Love hurts._ **

 


	3. Youngblood

The boy had become a stagnant mystery to Claire. He hadn't penetrated the coffee shop with his alluring existence within a few days, and avowedly she had been utterly disappointed. She had something to look forward to for the time being during the shifts she worked. It had been more nominal, her works currently a trivial adventure. Still, only few people had arrived, in terms of significant importance accredited to her. Now, she was fixated on another book, it being The Outsiders, an entirely disparate literary piece than Jane Eyre.

She leaned over the counter, flipping through each page and pending for another customer to enter. Everytime that bitty bell would utter it's chime, her heart had fluttered at the possible awakening surmise that one of those people entering could be him. She knew it sounded like a dense fairytale wish, where the entranced princess gets rescued by her darling prince charming. However, in a way, she had hoped for it to occur. She was exploring the mystical realm of armor, where she craved the essence of love. Unfortunately, despite having read a myriad of romance books, she couldn't identify with the female protagonist where she falls in love. It was something she always wanted to venture on, a garden she could roam barefoot through in frivolous merriment. And each flower she'd pick would endorse an emblem of love.

She had also been contemplating his response. He was experiencing the trauma of love himself, where like a dagger, it had been stabbing him. It only intrigued her more, the concept of him hurt from love. Perhaps his love was wounding him immensely, he needed someone better. And feasibly, she could be a remedy for him.

She swept her gaze off her book for only a moment, catching the brink of time. It had been 8:30 at night, and still, no sign of him. It was nearly time to close up the shop and call it a night. She had considered closing the shop early so she could go home and tend to her grandmother. Surveying the scene, she had declared no one had been around. It was completely vacant, thus permitting her a reason to finish her work duties.  

Wiping the granite counter to where it was polished clean, no traces of grub was discovered in the coffee shop. She attended to the table tops, cleansing them to ample sanitation. That was one of the multiple objectives her father had always admired about her, proceeding before he passed. 

She glanced up at the ceiling, sighing at the musings of her beloved father. He was a saint, just like her grandfather. A devoted husband he was, despite her mother’s runaround antics she hadn’t been fond of. Her mother wasn’t attentive to her maternal responsibilities like she should of been. She had abandoned her and her father when Claire was only six years old. Never, she would be able to comprehend why she would vanish in a blink of an eye, and desert the family she once created. They could of gleamed in a blissful ending. Her daughter could of asked for support in her relationships, and possibly she could of been a different lady, jarring everyone with a splash of confidence. But she couldn’t, she had been unprepared. Now that she was almost eighteen, she wanted to experience the freight train of love. She was ready for that dedicated journey. 

Returning to the back counter, she continued to clean any excess smudge she could find. Suddenly, she ceased her scouring behavior at the chime of the familiar bell. At first, she refused to rotate. She furrowed her eyebrows, oblivious to who the culprit could be that just accessed the coffee shop.

She whisked around, her heart thumping rapidly. Butterflies emerged in her stomach at the sight of the person that began to stride towards her. 

_He was here._

Her mind immersed into clouds of dust, her stomach churned with anxiousness. She blinked rapidly to concentrate on deciphering the moment between a captures of figment and masters of reality. 

It had resulted and deemed to be true reality. 

She had been frozen in a trance, her gaze locked to him like a deer trapped in the illuminating headlights. Upon entering, he had refused to linger his gaze on someone else. He had preferred to fixate his magnifying scrutiny upon her. It appeared to be to her, just from how he had ironically showed up late, that he had one specific purpose to enter the coffee shop. He had a odd streak for not being present in the local coffee shop, and now here he was, arriving at an uncommon time. She had presumed that he showed up for her, just based on their minimal conversation merely a few days ago. 

To make the situation even more awkward, instead of sitting at the usual seat every stepping stone of the moment he was here, he occupied one of the chairs at the front table. 

Again, he refused to peer away from her. He didn’t utter a single word, but from how he pursed his lips, he looked like he begged to articulate more. 

The wet rag absorbed each flexion curve that swam in the palm of her hand. Settling it on the granite counter surface, which was shimmering under the light from how sanitized it was, she gained the courage to approach him.

"What can I get you today?" She queried, her attitude bland as black coffee. It had no flavor to it, and honestly was sick of the consistent phrase.

"Don't you know me by now?" He teased playfully. Mantled over her cheeks was a shade of red, deep as the cherry seat on the chair.

How could she not memorize the routinely order? It was practically engraved in the concretion of her mind.

_A cappuccino with whipped cream. No cinnamon._

She reciprocated with a timid smile, trembling and astounded her knees haven't crumbled so weakly. "Got it."

While she brewed the caramel colored coffee, she heard the rustle of him retrieving something from his pocket. She anticipated he had reached for his cigarettes, and surely she was correct. Pirouetting around, she saw that the cigarette was lodged between his fingers as if on cue. It was a normal habit, a rare occasion to see him without that cigarette, and the emblematic leather jacket. He always had it on, and never took it off.

After the cappuccino was finished, she instantly handed it to him without hesitation. He offered a sly smile, sipping it automatically after he received it. There it was, the sensational bliss was evaporating on his tongue, and satisfaction brimmed inside of him. For a guy who had a reputation for being merciless and pugnacious, who knew he could be addicted to a cappuccino. No one would believe it, that's always why he preferred to be alone when arriving there. He had frequent paranoia about his reputation constantly, and if someone ever recognized him there he was uncertain what he would do. Albeit, this coffee shop was oddly refreshing to him and ameliorated him to where he could cope with the reoccurring personal situations in his life.

He lingered his gaze over to the female aside him, who dived her attention into a pool of a book. It didn't take him long to distinguish the book.

"The Outsiders," he murmured his observation. She glanced up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah," she tittered with trepidation evident in her tone.

He observed her, scoping her appearance. Behind the dark rimmed glasses framed upon her porcelain face, she had been beauteous in attraction. Normally, he wasn't into nerdy girls, especially since he had a girl at his side. However, this girl had an appeal to him that intrigued him. Something about her he found mesmerizing and he yearned to discover more.

"I have a friend that loves that book like crazy. Might as well call im' obsessed." He divulged.

She nodded, remaining timid. He knitted his eyebrows, biting his upper lip in extensive musing.

This girl was a tough nut to crack.

"Do ya like to read?" He attempted to make conversation, eager to get to know this girl better. He saw her everyday, might as well start something, right?

"Yes I do." She returned kindly, closing her book to avert her attention to him.

"I just got done reading a book called Jane Eyre. It's one of my favorite reads. Do you read?"

He chuckled, shaking his head negatively in response. "Nah, not really my gig. I'm more into fixin' bikes and cars, I don't really have the time to read. I just have better things to do I guess."

As soon as he uttered those words, he grew regretful. He plead that he didn't offend her in harms way when all he was intending was being truthful to his words. But in spite of that, she simply twinkled like the stars dancing on the indigo night sky.

"It's okay, it's your cup of tea. Everyone likes different things, not everyone is going to like the same things in this fragile life."

He tugged his cigarette to his lips, inhaling a batch of nicotine in the aroma of the coffee shop. Another thing he had appreciated about this coffee shop: he was permitted to smoke.

"Your right."

He peered around the nominal coffee shop, where it was vacant. Emptiness distilled the room and admittedly he had preferred it more than anything. He was able to ruminate in such a thorough concentration. As much as he enjoyed the rowdy presence of being around his boys, sometimes it was nice being able to unwind in a serene place like this.

"How long do you work here for?" He wondered, seeing it was only her working here. Not that he didn't mind, he just found it odd.

"Until closing, which is in ten minutes."

"Are you the only one that works here?" He queried.

"No, there's another girl here that works the day shift, and a boy sometimes works the same shift as me. This coffee shop actually belongs to my grandparents."

His expression punctured into a disappointed frown.

_'Another one of em' spoiled rich kids huh?'_

Truth was, she didn't seem affluent to him. She didn't reciprocate in a conceited and self-absorbed manner like those inbred preppies that attended Bullworth Academy. Come to think of it, it struck his mind like a lightning bolt in a thunder storm that he never noticed her on the premises of the academy. Notably, he rarely fixated any attention on the school grounds unless it was the autoshop lot or if it was a class he was skipping with his girl and his boys.

"Do you go to Bullworth Academy?"

A firm shake of the head from her fielded his question.

"I did once, but I got bullied by a girl named Mandy and became home-schooled."

Mandy-his boys lusted for her like a cat with numinous catnip-that head cheerleader who he considered a bitch because of her bad mouthing his queen behind her back. It didn't astonish him, regarding her behavior towards the other students. According to his sister, who was always defensive over her best friend Beatrice, who unfortunately was bullied constantly from her.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that." He consoled, frowning.

She shrugged casually, brushing it off like a puny lint on an article of fabric. "That was the past, and now here I am. I'm stronger, and I'm doing way better for myself."

"That's good," he attributed a congenial accolade. He sipped on his cappuccino again, relishing on the minute amid them. It was a salubrious evening for him, and the fact he had an escape to where he could flee the baggage of his problems aided him tremendously.

A beam was implanted on her face, nodding earnestly. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that."


	4. Lie to Me

A couple days proceeded to fly by, and Claire hadn't spotted the mysterious boy since. She no longer had something to look forward to again, but in preparation for when she might cross paths with him afresh, she had attired herself in a lavender pink sweater with a black skirt. Since it was March, the uncontrollable weather remained inclement in preparation for the agony of April Shower's, which was Mother Nature's calling. The scent of cinnamon wafts through her nostrils, blessing her with satisfaction as she brews coffee for the upcoming customer, who had been attractive. She assumed him to be roughly in his teens from how youthful he appeared, with his jawline honed as a dagger's lament and chocolate brown meticulously swept over forehead. He wore an Aquaberry shirt, a common fashion trend that inhabited the upper class of the metropolitan.

"Here's your cinnamon dolce latte." She offered a shy beam at the well dressed man in front of her, who reciprocated with a casual beam of his own.

"Thank you good lady, is that sweater Aquaberry?" The boy queried, causing the timid girl to fluster as she glimpsed below at her sweater. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled humbly.

"No, it isn't."

The male was stupefied, it seemed too elegant and pristine to not be considered Aquaberry. "That is truly astonishing, it fits the admirable style Aquaberry! I really love Aquaberry."

She tittered, oddly satisfied hearing the faux royal accent he had. However, it could never compare with the New York slang the mystery boy possessed.

"I see that."

"Well," he gripped onto the glass cup firmly, revealing his perfectly aligned set of pearly whites to her as an award, "it was a pleasure speaking to you, but I am afraid I have to head out. I have a date with a stunning female, which unfortunately my daddy will never approve since she's on the less fortunate side."

Claire acknowledged him with a nod. "It was a pleasure speaking to you too."

The luxurious appealing male dipped his head, flattering her like a duly gentleman would. As intended, he exited the coffee shop, deserting the female where she was alone. Albeit, there had been a couple adults enthralling on the delightful afternoon with each sip of their coffee they ordered and reading through each magazine the coffee shop offered for entertainment. Claire expelled a sigh, now reading something different in her standards of reading, skipping through the words of Hamlet.

"To Be, or Not to Be." engraved her cerebrum, interrupting her train of thoughts. Through the reflection of a polished, silver napkin holder, she examined her face. She inherited no face of a glamorous model. Claire had considered herself a "Plain Jane," in which she lacked the ideal appeal of a body that boys lusted for. Her breasts were a C size, just barely measuring to the desired Double D's. Her frame was petite, her legs not extensive enough to be a model. She frowned, degrading herself as a human being because of her appearance. Her mother, albeit a tramp who flashed her buxom shape to everyone in town, was flawless in her appeal. Her hair had been twirled in honey blonde ringlets that were trimmed to neck length. She knew how to properly apply coats of makeup to where she dazzled everyone as a completely disparate person, barely anybody could identify her without any makeup as it was a rare occasion spotting her without. She wondered what it would be to be pretty and not to be a plain teenager girl with nothing to her.

The doorbell's lucky tingle chimed, and arriving on cue, there he was. He arrived unusually earlier today, howbeit commencing his arrival in livid pits of rage. It reminded her from that week he penetrated the coffee shop with his existence, storming in and lamenting his pools of infuriated grief on the coffee shop. It had exacerbated where it was intense, only this time, he fermented his anger with a foot levitating the air swiftly and swept it directly towards the chair, an almighty tornado kick it had been.

Claire stood awkwardly, fumbling with the hem of her sweater. She averted her gaze to the people there, who's gazes were a permanent gape fixated on the boy. His knuckles were clenched into taut fists, and his breathing became shallow, smoldering the fire of his fiery. Afraid he may enact a calamitous scene unnecessarily, she timidly approached the enraged man that bestowed the shop. She ceased to a halt, her footsteps intentionally inaudible to prevent him from being perturbed from the slight noise. The mousy girl squeaked a yelp when he pounded his fists against the table, which of course he heard. She had merely been a couple inches away from him, within ample proximity. He expelled a hefty respire and forced his eyes shut. 

A faint blush mantled over the female's cheeks, flustered at what just occurred. Utter remorse inhabited her face, pitying the poor boy despite him vandalizing the coffee shop. Initially, she was reluctant proceeding when she spoke to him, but seeing as he could use someone to ramble on about his problems, she no longer hesitated.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Claire queried, her voice spewed soft as a mouse. The boy ejected another abysmal exhale as a method to alleviate his frustrations. He gradually lifted his fists off the table, and had unwind his fingers to where they were no longer formed into stiff balls. He eyes fluttered open, his gaze diverting into the mystic realm of her ocean blue eyes. His chocolate orbs mooned with her dazzling blue eyes, as she blinked in the brink of time, he swore the blue had been rippling tidal waves. 

"Remember when I was tellin' you the other day that love hurts?"

Claire blinked rapidly, processing the fact he remembered that minimal interaction amid them; in fact, it had been their first interaction with each other. "Yeah, I do."

"That's the reason why I'm so angry," he confirmed, refusing to linger his gaze away from the petite woman in front of him, "the reason why I've been so angry lately." 

Her heart fluttered inside, as he had concentrate steady attention to how she behaved towards him. From that, it revealed to her he was appreciative for being empathetic with him. Also, it was obvious why she would be aware he was infuriated during the past couple times, considering they had been the only two people there to interact. She peered her gaze rapidly to the door, noticing the adults present had departed the coffee shop, probably driven from his sudden lament of destruction frightened them away. She was grateful though, as it granted them the chance to chat personally. Perhaps this was her father's doing as her guardian angle, providing a miracle of love for her. She decided to take the advantage she was blessed with and opened up more to the boy in front of her, spacing out the opportunity to embark on a relationship. In the garden of amour, she planted the seeds of lilac, the color when bloomed a passionate purple. 

"Care to talk about it?" She offered generously. 

The boy chewed his lip in rumination, and there it was, the attractive pout she lustfully admired. 

He considered her offer and took it, first come, first served. For one, she was a female, so she can interpret another woman's antics. Secondly, from their interactions and light conversation from the other night, she had devoted her time as a sincere listener. He affirmed with a slight bob of his head, and instead of chatting at the table, they perched at the regular table he sits at by the window. Rather than night crawling through the windows stealthily as a mystery, sunlight had dawned the windows. The male had unexpectedly bestowed her with his presence a hour before he routinely arrives. Lavender clouds dispersed the rose colored sky, amalgamating with the golden fruit of the sun to produce a content orange. It was absolutely mystifying to view, unfortunately Claire would of been cooped up inside the coffee shop to where she would be unable to experience the delight of the amiable sunset. 

Once Claire and the boy secured themselves in their seats, she perked up her elbows and cupped both her cheeks, allocating interest to the male now across from her.

"What's on your plate?"  

He suppressed a batch of air once more, trying to calm down with the overbearing thought engraved into his head; it was difficult for him to resist not getting angrier by the second.

"My girl, Lola? She's my queen, but she's a no good harlot who won't stop playin' me. The boys keep puttin' their paws on her, rich jerks is what they are, and although she knows she's mine, she won't stay away from them."

Claire frowned, her gaze lingering to a stack of napkins. It reminded her of the woman her mother was, refusing to steer clear away from men that wasn't her own husband. 

She shook her head in disbelief, resenting anyone who cheated. A deceitful sin was what it was. "That's awful. I can't understand why someone would ever do such a thing like that to their significant other." 

The boy nods, unceasing his period of venting. "You are tellin' me. The slut doesn't know when to keep her legs closed. What makes it worse is that she goes off, lyin' to me about it when I demand it outta her." 

"I try to be a good boyfriend, devoted to her and stuff, buyin' flowers and chocolates. I don't come from a well off family, it just makes me think," his expression altered from pure fiery to dejection within seconds, he inaudibly choked on his frail words, "am I not good enough for her?"

Claire stirred uncomfortably, combating the urge to reach over and hug the leather clad heartthrob across from her. She resisted desperately and proceeded to listen loyally as he unceased his rambling.

”I try with what I got. I may not have much money in my pocket, but I try. All I do is go on beggin’ for her to love me. But then all she does is go on bein’ some Runaround Sue.” 

The young man, in need of a stress relief, delved into his pocket and retrieved his pack of camels. Claire shook inaudibly in disapproval of how his girlfriend treated him cruely as he ignited the cherry of a cigarette. He offered one kindly to her, but she denied it as she refused to inhale the toxicity of the nicotine substance. 

“That’s horrible, I sincerely apologize you have to go through that, I really do.” She insisted. 

He hauled the cigarette to his pouted lips, soon exhaling the nicotine in a shallow suspire. Claire blinked rapidly as the substance accidentally hassled with her vision, but fortunately for her glasses that shielded her they took the mighty brawl. Fogged and unable to view the male across from her, she took her glasses off her face, allowing the boy to examine her complexion more intently. 

Her jawline had been heart-shaped. The ocean blue of her orbs flickered at them, the waves more mesmerizing to glimpse. As he gazed into them, he felt like he traveled to a serene beach. Her skintone had been pale as a peony especially as she had a soft pink blush mantled over her cheeks, blending smoothly to compose the ardent flower. Unlike his woman, she had this graceful stature and ladylike manner he couldn’t resist to admire. Something inside of him if his heart ever intended to move forward from the deceitful harlot, he could potentially lust for this girl. 

He proceeded forward in desires of resolving his conflict, a burden of love. “What do you think I should do?”

”In my opinion?” She sputtered. 

“I would call off the relationship, you don’t deserve that treatment. No one does. I have no tolerance for cheating on a significant other in a relationship.” 

He was enlightened by her considerate words, as it revealed that she authentically seemed to care for him. Howbeit, his gut wrenched into a nauseous entice at the musing of terminating his virulent relationship with Lola. One of the prospects he loathed viewing in this world was when a girl cried. There were times he weakly attempted to end it, but then the manipulative vixen would feign a sea of melodramatic sobs to somehow keep the relationship. It made no sense to him, he was completely dubious how the girl would constantly play him, yet when he comprehensibly went and ended the relationship for the sake of himself, she would blubber and plead mercy at his feet to not break up with her. 

“But I still love her,” he enunciated, another reason why he could never permanently surcease the unhealthy relationship, “I don’t think I could ever do that.”

Clarissa affirmed her understanding with a faint bob of her head. 

“I know it’s a hard thing to do.” 

He raised an eyebrow in suspense. “You’ve been in the same boat as me?”

”No, but my dad has. My mom cheated on him like a gust of wildfire in a forest. He was emotionally scarred from her unfaithful behavior. The man was an absolute saint, he was so devoted to me and her.” 

The boy gaped at her blankly, refusing to linger his gaze to somewhere else. 

“So how did he get over her?” 

“Well, it took him a while. After all, it was his first love. Eventually he found my stepmom, who was an angel sent from above. Way different than my mother on so many levels. I considered her a mother more than my own.” 

She was aware she dived into the realm of personal input, but it didn’t matter. The man upfront wasn’t reluctant to ascending into his personal life, so why should she? 

He ruminated and tallied down an astute observation about the girl. She spoke in former speech, applying the uses of “was” and adding “ed” to her language. 

“Your ma and pops, they still around?” He queried, hopeful it wasn’t a sensitive subject to ventilate. 

Clairie softened at the subject of her parents, forcing her eyes shut. Johnny’s expression fell gloomy when he could no longer dive into the captivating ocean of her eyes. Never had he loved the light shade of shimmering blue til the present period. 

“No, last year in April we were on our way to see a Shakespeare play in Chicago. It was the production of Romeo and Juliet. Before we aboarded the train back to Bullworth, someone shot them both and fled. I had only turned seventeen at the time.” She confessed, him being the first person other than her grandparents about the traumatic event. She could never escape it. Ever since it occurred, she suffered from devastating night terrors for weeks, even to this year. All that daunted over her was the appalling sight of crimson pools of blood and ear-piercing shrieks.

The boy couldn’t register what the young girl was informing him. As a matter of fact, he was astounded yet grateful she had discovered in her heart to tell him this. It wasn’t something you’d exactly divulge to a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss. That must of been hard on ya.”

“It was,” she murmured, fluttering her eyes open and dazzling him with the intense blue of her eyes, “but like I mentioned, I’m stronger than before and I’m proud. I’ve adjusted a long way since then.”  

“That’s good you have, not much women are as strong as you, well, my sister is pretty strong too.” 

This was the second time he had mentioned he had a sister, and from the proud expesssion that was formed upon his face, he cared immensely for his sister. 

She was flattered at the compliment, and to prove it, her face was rubescent as she digested it. 

“Thanks, and you are a strong man yourself. You are faithful to your girlfriend evem though she doesn’t return the same behavior as she should. I appreciate it dearly in people, I commend it actually.” 

The male inhaled another drag from the breather and a sly smile lingered on his lips. 

“Thanks coffee girl.” 

Claire beamed shyly at the cute nickname. Perhaps this would be an appropriate time to address herself formally considering this was the third day they interacted. 

“My name is Claire.” 

 _‘Claire?’_ He scrutinized at her appeal, and with the glasses framed upon her delicate face that was mantled with a scarlet red, the name befitted her accordingly. Her growing timid seemed to attract him to her even more and he wasn’t certain why. He just found himself intrigued that a girl was shy by him, it could only deem to be obvious this adorable female had a fondness enflamed for him.

“Nice to meet you Claire. The name is Johnny Vincent, and no one makes a fool outta me!” 


	5. Grandma Ivory and Grandpa Jude

Claire expels a mist of air of the spring breeze that seeped through her lungs. A beam had broadened from cheek to cheek, which had been permanently plastered upon her lips ever since her interaction with the mystery boy she had discovered to be Johnny Vincent. He had offered to escort her home since dawn was colliding into the brittle surface of earth, but she denied as she wasn't certain what her grandparents would think if she had peculiarly brought a boy from the coffee shop. They always desired for her to make amends with at least a few friends considering she has been lonely ever since becoming home-schooled. When she attended Bullworth Academy, she had a female companion prior to her leaving. Her name had been Beatrice, who weakly, howbeit made an attempt to stand up for her as they tackled reckless bullying from Mandy together. Occasionally, they would be found studying in the library, chattering subtly whilst accommodating research and investing in their studies. She missed the nerdy girl, and ruminated if she even remembered her. It had been three years since she fled from the chaotic harassment of the academy, and albeit, she was content but also felt she adapted more reclusive since she lacked any reliable companionship. Perhaps if she did return to the academy for the rest of her junior year, Johnny would be one of her companions, and defend her from the bullying.   
  
Gazing up at the cream vinyl house, she exhaled a deep breath. Ever since her father had passed, her relationship with her grandparents had evolved to a firm level, but she felt like she had to impress them and present herself in a formal way. They were prosperous and elegant in their manners, and sought to have her portray herself as a mature young woman. They held high expectations for her in her education, such as attending a college after she’d be finished with homeschooling. It petrified her to some degree, considering she had been trapped inside her own shell. She wasn’t exactly what you referred to as the most extroverted girl out there. She already struggled making friends when she had attended Bullworth Academy, so how would she engrave her mark at a university or college?  
  
When she approached the front door of her house, she knelt down and searched for the house key under the mat, her hand swimming in the royal blue, "Welcome Home" mat for the golden ticket that would lead her inside her house. She never comprehended why her grandmother presumed it to be in the collection of award winning ideas where a key should be stuffed underneath a mat. It was a stereotypical place to store it, it was an open invitation for anyone to head inside. Considering that the home was brimful of the elderly, who were perceived frail and helpless, it was open to any strangers where it was possible something could happen to them, especially on a night where Claire wouldn't be home.   
  
She entered inside of the house, which was rather cozy in appeal. It was only first story and small in size, but to Claire, it was enchanting compared to one of the glorious mansions and castles scattered among the Vale. It was elaborated with radiant decorations, varying from family portraits embraced inside of picture frames, candles were dispersed in the ideal fragments of the home, and a bright colored, fetching Azalea bush was gorged into a corner. Other house plants, such as her grandmother's sacred eucalyptus plants, were settled in homes of their own, embodied neatly in pumpkin colored pots. A fireplace was incised into the wall, mounted with silver stone bricks that coordinated favorably with the lavender print.   
  
Claire smiled sweetly at the fireplace, which was currently igniting it's flame. She observed the blazing marmalade beneath her, a sudden craving to lounge on the beige sofa with a book secured safely in her hands had satisfied her dreamily. The aroma of Christmas essence sailed around her as if she had been lost, caped at sea. Balsam inundated her grandparents house, as something about being encompassed by a family of evergreen trees and forestation soothed her grandfather. Naturally to him, surrounding himself in a serene forest always left him tranquil.   
  
Dehydrated and suddenly in urgent care of herbal and contentment, she headed into the kitchen in desperation of tea. She rummaged through the cupboards as her dependency on herbal tea bolstered. Unlike other girls, who glorified the concrete ideals of attending popular parties and energetically prancing around town, Claire's perception of fantasy was remaining in the comfort of her own home. Instead of carousing on the devil's advocate, the malevolent, sinister alcohol, Claire preferred to supply herself with teas and coffees. The matter of various flavors it came in appealed to her, mystifying her where they had her spellbound. Whenever she sipped tea and coffee, she was captivated like a witch with her entrancing potions. The quality of pertaining to a civil, relaxed young lady was held at the highest regard to her. In this case, her grandparents were satisfied at how elegant she expressed herself to be.  
  
As she brewed her herbal tea, a sudden cogitation perforated her trail of thoughts. It was a pleasurable anticipation, a possibility of her returning to Bullworth Academy and astound Johnny with a curveball tossed at him for arriving at the academy. As she closed her eyes, the attractive greaser that rumbled provocative invaded, a mental image that allured her was him removing his leather jacket. Since there had been a heavily strict rule that was enforced upon the students to wear uniforms, the male embodiment of the student campus wore sweater vests over their shirts, especially the ones who weren't involved in any sports. The navy blue vest had been snagged off of him, and there layered beneath was a white polo that veiled over his abs, emphasized scrupulously. His chocolate mop of hair was ruffled up, coated with greasy sweat that trickled down his flawless features. A close up of him was enlarged in her brain, where she was enabled to capture a meticulous appeal of his chiseled features. His jawline was honed enough to slice the bagels from the coffee shop, and his chocolate brown eyes were murky and mysterious as her current cup of tea. Instead of the earthy scent that she inhaled from her herbal tea, refurbishing in the air was his musky scent that drove her wildly insane. She suddenly caught a glimpse of a possible future amid them, a slideshow that flashed before she realized it all.   
  
Droning her out of her thoughts, she was released back into the unfathomable world where tangling around her in a taut coil was sheer despair. The minute her grandfather had arrived in the kitchen, who's wrinkles seemed to be so young and freed from age with the intrinsic beam found on his face, now had been as ancient as the old Bullworth church. Swept with a clear definition in his features from the mortified panic upon his face, Claire could no longer identify the youth that was once inherent in the elderly predecessor.  
  
Lost and damaged, her grandfather clutched onto his chest. His hand hovered over the left side of his torso, where his palpitating heart had been. Desperately, he fumbled with the fabric of his flannel sweater. He unsheathed his claws and drowned his nails into the ocean blue of his flannel. His heart wasn't shattered; it was lost at sea and buried in the dwelling cavern of the water with his wife.  
  
"Claire, sweet pea," he uttered in his raspy tone, tears swelling in his wrinkled eyes, a gush streaming down the innocent man's cheeks.  
  
"What is it Poppie?" She immediately latched onto his hand, swift but gentle.  
  
The humble elder couldn't connect his gaze with hers, who has now become the only woman in his life as a living being. It was difficult, and she wouldn't comprehend how the distressed event occurred just a moment ago prior to her arrival.  
  
Water flooded the girl's chocolate orbs, as she couldn't adjust to the bearing of her grandfather's bawling.  
  
"Poppie?" The mousy girl squeaked.  
  
Collapsing to his knees, the elderly man whimpered and shook, becoming more vulnerable than Claire had ever viewed him to be. Instantly she fell with him, aiding as his support without hesitation. Her arm was coiled securely around his shoulder to prevent him from suffering a possible heart attack. She wasn't certain what was going on, and tried to solve the petrifying question why her grandmother hadn't stepped out to greet her. How she wasn't here, to nurture her endearing husband in her arms when his wings that excelled him to the sky had drooped to the standard ground. When in a fragmented time such as this, why she refused to help him cope as his durable universe he built for years was weakened and destroyed. His once potent colony had crumpled and bruised like Babylon.  
  
"My Ivory.. my delicate Ivory Ruth. The angel of my life has flown above me."  
  
Claire pretended to be dubious to what he just enunciated, but she was well aware she couldn't flake it. She couldn't isolate herself in the betraying castle of denial.  
  
Her grandmother was gone.  
  
Tears managed to overflow in massive amounts, but instinctively she wiped them from her face and tried to cease her own cries. She had to be strong for her grandfather, who was trying desperately to attack the battles of grief. He had been valiant and sound for the young girl when she had lost her solicitious father and the mother who treated her as if she conceived her herself. The woman that never abandoned the little family that was her and her father unlike her treacherous birth mother.  
  
No expression was discovered in her features, as it was her turn to be the brave one of the surviving duo. All they had was each other in this current life.  
  
When Jude Bellin finally was able to meld his gaze with his precious granddaughter's, who he was proud of for possessing a victory in her strength he's never been familiar with, courage had flourished internally within him.  
  
"Clairey," he attempted to speak, his eyes glossy and cheeks smeared with translucent stains from his tears, "I am disgusted with myself for being the one to have to tell you the unfortunate news."  
  
There was a long pause proceeding the ultimate game changer for him and his granddaughter. Respectful as she was, she remained, awaiting patiently for him to tell her himself when he was ready.  
  
He rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her with comfort by patting her lightly.  
  
"Your grandma has passed away, sweet pea. She's always been our guardian angel when she was with us, but up there with your father, and your stepmother, Cece, she's there to protect us. All of them, Clairey."  
  
Claire nodded and blinked profusely, processing the deaths in the entirety of the moment. Just when her grandfather was certain she would shed an upcoming batch of tears, he swooped her into his arms. He cradled her, adorned with affection and memories from when she was a baby. He had been the first person to hold her the evening she was born.  
  
The scent of her grandmother was implemented in his shirt, a pleasant combination of honeysuckle, lavender, and plants. Earth had been her grandmother's melody, a mellifluous remedy that her initiated the love between her and her grandfather in the origin of the Bellin's beginning.  
  
Inhaling her refreshing aroma only made Claire feel connected to her grandmother. It made her perceive she was present with the two in spirit, just as her grandfather had insisted. A sly smile had been collected from her through the painful sobs as she was persistent with herself to concentrate on positives.  
  
She wrapped her arms around her grandfather, reciprocating in the security of his hold.  
  
"I'm so sorry you had to come home to this my dear." The aching guilt escaped from the lodge stored inside his throat, where Claire assured his fragile whimpers.  
  
"It'll be okay Poppie," her voice had been muffled in his shoulder, gentle and softly tender for him to hear in bare minimum, "we can get through this together. We've got each other to take care of."  
  
Her grandfather tried his best to smile through the wicked sorrow, but when his eyes darted to a picture framed of him and his beautiful Ivory on their wedding day, his heart sunk deeper into the abyss of devastation.  
  
"I'm glad you think so positive sweet pea, because your grandfather sure needs it."  
  
"Anything you need Poppie," Claire began, releasing herself from his hold so she could approach his scruple, "I am here. Do you need help with grandma? I can dial 911 if it is hard for you to speak."  
  
A part of him became deceased when his own granddaughter offered to help with his wife, who has passed away elegantly and serene in their bed. There was no business intended for a young girl to see her elderly inspiration without a whisk of breath to her.  
  
"I've got it taken care of Clairey, I'll help with your grandma. You can call 911 in the meantime. You've got no business seeing your grandma how she is right now, that is too hard for a young lady like you to see."  
  
Truly, it wouldn't of been the worst thing she's seen on this abomination of a cruel planet. Seeing her grandma peaceful and asleep was better than watching in twisted demented horror when her father and stepmother was murdered with a gunshot.  
  
She blinked, as crimson splattered across the linoleum tiles of the pure white kitchen floor. Stained as if it had been a velvety white rose.  
  
Blinking again, her grandfather had pivoted around to saunter towards his bedroom, resorting back to his deseased wife. She wanted to accompany him, as she was terrified if something could occur to him in the process of it all. But she didn't, and she wasn't sure why it halted her desires to go with her grandfather. Instead, she followed the opposite of her instincts and retrieved the cordless phone. Her fingers compressed against the buttons lightly where she was astonished she was able to dial 911. The guide to go to where infamous disasters happen everyday and scream at the world that it isn't as simple as it seemed.  
  
During the duration in which the operator interrogated the question that had been followed for decades- "911, what is your emergency?" - The memory of when Claire had to be the one to dial 911 to report her parents brutal deaths flashed through her mind. The gunshots bellowed in rampage, and nearby citizens howled their battlecry. Then a few minutes after, she bawled on the pay telephone to inform her grandparents immediately the calamitous situation that would continue to daunt over her for the rest of her life.  
  
Tears escaped the chocolate of her eyes like the foam from the whipped cream that hovered over cappuccinos, as it just happened by a matter of incident.  
  
Her previously calm voice had disentegrated into fragility, her appearance adapting so melancholy.  
  
"My grandmother has just passed away, my grandfather and I need your help. Please, help us."  
  
"What is your address? We will send ambulances to your house immediately."

A throbbing sob was wept from down the hallway leading to her grandparents room, the cry had harrowed Claire's heart with an agonizing dagger.

It was too much for her to grasp. The raw misery revived in the Bellin family, where grief once again nailed the glory out of their livelyhood.

"It's Pine Avenue, 46552 in Bullworth Vale. Please, please hurry. I don't know how much longer my grandfather can bear it." She begged mercifully, forcing her eyes shut as if she been wincing in excruciating pain from a hurtful wound.

"The ambulances are on it's way, sweetie. You know what you need to do in the meantime while the ambulances are arriving?"

"Do what?" She blubbered.

"Go to him, hold him, and never let him go. Your heart needs to be with him, as one heart of a loved one allows the other to keep growing. The heart needs the strength of another heart so they are steady. With two hearts cupped together, balance is embed. Go and give him the balance his heart needs, girl."

Lacking ambivalence, Claire clutched onto the advice the operator provided her and endured the fragment in each word. She released the phone, setting it face down against the countertop of the kitchen. She became heedless and neglected the tea that had completed it's brewing, but all that mattered to her was the person she was attached to. By the time she entered the room, her grandfather was mourning, suffering immensely as his deceased wife lay inanimate on the bed. Her eyes were closed, appearing as if she had been in a slumber so tranquil. Unable to ingest the subtle whimpers from her grandfather, Claire automatically settled beside him to tangle her arms around him in an embrace. Bewildered by the sudden pace in movement, Jude cautiously averted his gaze to the other star that gleamed his entire life, his granddaughter. Just because his wife was gone, didn't mean the she wouldn't collide with the stars scattered among the night sky. Instead, she would be the glint that illuminated the stars brightness. She was what enabled the stars to radiate it's lucent glare in the first place. 

The amiable sun's beam peppered his cheeks with it's aurora. As he closed his eyes, he enthralled on the journey to the eye of the sun. For the moment, he outlined a figure, purified in effervescent white. It turned out to be her. The woman of divine elegance that has been the essence of his life since 1959 was there. Recognizable, he effortlessly identified the alluring doll face he fell in love with when was seventeen. The defined cheek bones were mantled with a blush that was like the rose garden outside his home, and those oily blue orbs glimmered at him in the light. Instead of the decaying silver linings in her soft tendrils of hair, there were those velvety red curls he admired, trimmed and exquisite at the neckline. His angel had visited him in his time of despair, just as she did when she was living. 

"Ruthie!" He hollered, begging for her to return to him. Offering a smile, his heart galloped when she beamed her pearly whites. His hopes withered the moment she gyrated around, aiming towards the direction of the sun. No matter how bad he wanted to chase after her, he couldn't. He remained to a halt, observing as the love of his life was released before him. Her white dress flowed with a refreshing breeze that impacted him tremendously. A thought aboarded the train of realization as he traveled back to the current moment. Instead of looking into the oily ocean of his dearest Ruth, it was replaced with his precious granddaughter's. They locked eyes, cherishing the bittersweet coil they had together. 

Everything would be okay, as long as Clairey was here with him. 


End file.
